


because i felt like it

by zoeyclarke



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Awkward Conversations, Car Sex, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Making Out, Post-Finale, Sexual Content, because i think we were all taken aback by max driving an audi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeyclarke/pseuds/zoeyclarke
Summary: Over the years, Max's Audi is the setting for many an escapade... some less innocent than others. (Or: 5 times Zoey and Max try to get busy in the car, +1 time they're finally not interrupted.)
Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Max Richman
Comments: 59
Kudos: 103





	1. I. seatbelt

**Author's Note:**

> when i saw max drive away in that hella fine automobile in 1x12, i mean... i was just *shocked pikachu face* so here's the fic resulting from that reaction!
> 
> this is canon compliant, and starts off with some post-finale reflection because i wanted to write some and i wasn't sure if i could fit it into any other fics. each scene in the 5+1 will have its own chapter because this got way longer than i originally intended. (actually, this was supposed to be a quick smutty one-shot, but i had to make it emotional and cheesy, so here we are!) 
> 
> with each progressive chapter, it gets a little more ~explicit~ so i will probably raise the rating when it gets to that point. thanks for reading and i hope y'all enjoy :) since this one is now completed, i'll get around to finishing the final chapter of a marriage and other mishaps - so keep an eye out for that!

After spending two weeks straight sleeping in her childhood bed— a narrow twin with a squeaky frame and perpetually-rumpled sheets— Zoey decides enough is enough.

David had spent every last second of his allotted five days in their parents’ house before Emily talked him into coming back home, threatening that he would miss the birth of their child if he didn’t— which  _ is  _ a valid point.  _ Dad already missed it, so why should David?  _ Zoey pushes away the thought.

The Clarke residence is the loneliest she has ever seen it. Even when it was full of people milling around wearing black and sputtering condolences like broken records, it still felt... empty. In the past few weeks, Zoey has hoped that by being here with her mom, she could make it feel the tiniest bit less lonely. David did his part, but had commitments to get back to. As for Zoey... she doesn’t think there is really anyone waiting for her to get back into her usual rhythm. Before Joan was whisked off to manage SPRQ Point from the top, she was able to negotiate an extended deadline for the Chirp to accommodate Zoey’s leave of absence. And sure, there are FaceTime calls from Mo and sympathetic texts from Simon, but otherwise it’s been polite radio silence— or at least, Zoey has  _ perceived  _ it as polite, but maybe everyone actually hates her now. Hell if she knows.

There  _ is  _ a certain somebody who is an exception, though. Max has been completely and utterly wonderful to her, giving her space and letting her go at her own pace. The pace Zoey has decided to follow is at a speed that would put a snail to shame, which is basically the opposite of what she was originally going for when she kissed him a few weeks ago. Despite her turning the faucet back and forth from hot to cold, Max has been here for her, quiet and unyielding in his love. Zoey can appreciate him being her one constant in life— because what a wonderful constant to have.

So after the longest two weeks of her life, Zoey stuffs the minimal essentials she’d brought over back into her duffel bag: her phone, her laptop, the chargers for both, and exactly five changes of clothes (Zoey only relented when Max asked for the fourth time if he could  _ please  _ stop by her apartment and grab something new for her to wear.  _ “Yeah,”  _ she’d conceded, frowning down at her pink NASA tee,  _ “I guess I’ll admit I’m concerned about all these food stains I’m not washing out. If I sit still too long, I might start growing mold.”  _ Spare key in hand, Max left and came back thirty minutes later with more space-themed t-shirts, sweats, and hoodies, and not a collared shirt in sight.  _ “I figured you’re not ready for those yet,”  _ he told her with a slight smile, and he was right. He knows her so well.)

Zoey throws her bag over her shoulder and trudges downstairs. She stops by the kitchen to hug her mom goodbye, and Maggie takes the opportunity to shove two casseroles into her hands. (With the recent influx of condolence casseroles from friends and neighbors, many had to be packed into the freezer so they wouldn’t go bad. The ones offered to Zoey are rock-solid and likely well on their way to being freezer burnt.) 

“One for you, and one for Max,” she tells her daughter in a tone that will not bend to any potential objections. Zoey chooses not to mention that there’s a chance she and Max will end up at the same place tonight. She knows Maggie would hardly be offended by the notion, but bringing it up would only initiate more conversation, and right now all Zoey wants is a change of surroundings.

A few minutes later, Zoey emerges from the house for the first time in several days. She peers around as if she just landed on a foreign planet. Crazy how the world just continues going even when her entire life seems to have imploded. But the general hustle and bustle of the neighborhood isn’t what catches her eye— it’s the familiar Audi sitting at the curb, sunlight catching on its silver paint, practically begging for her attention.

All too eagerly, Zoey scampers up to it. She probably looks somewhat manic doing this weird sluggish jog thing in broad daylight while wearing hole-filled leggings that have definitely seen better days. Still, she’s so relieved to turn her back on her parents’— or rather, her mom’s— house for a while. And though it’s true that any other car could take her away from here— any random Uber or friend she could’ve called— Zoey is so, so glad it’s this car that will be rescuing her from her two-week depression pit.

She swings open the passenger door and drops inside. “Hey,” she sighs. “Thank you. For, um, picking me up. It means a lot.” The words sound so silly at this point, like pointless pleasantries. Why  _ wouldn’t  _ he pick her up? Why  _ wouldn’t  _ he be here for her now? Max inhales her pain and exhales unconditional love and support. He looks at her like she’s the most stunning creature in the universe, including now when she hasn’t showered in recent memory nor held a makeup brush since the day of the funeral.

“Of course,” Max says, looking at her with an earnest warmth only he could manage. Zoey has always wanted to find a gemstone that matches the shade and depth of his eyes, because that is one piece of jewelry she would never take off.

He puts his hand on the gear shift, but when Zoey opens her mouth again he freezes. “Listen... I- I think I’ve had my time to think about it. About  _ us.  _ And honestly, I’m tired of being wishy-washy. It’s exhausting,” she says around a laugh. “And I realized pretty much any second I spent  _ not  _ thinking about my dad, I was thinking about  _ you,  _ Max. And it made me so much happier, instantly. I thought about how great it is that you’re my best friend and how great it would be if you could be my best friend and also be  _ more  _ than my best friend at the same time. Does that make sense? I don’t know if—”

Max’s lips press firmly onto hers, drawing out an effortless moan of pleasure because Zoey  _ might  _ have been fantasizing about this moment for weeks now. In her entire life, she’s never met someone who she kissed and then couldn’t stop dreaming about kissing again— until him. Zoey thinks that is definitely a good sign.

She tilts her head back to catch her breath, staring up at the cloudless sky through the open moonroof. Max apparently isn’t in dire need of oxygen, because he continues caressing her neck, skimming over the tender skin with teasing little nips. “Hey, I wasn’t done,” she giggles. Her mouth hurts from smiling so hard. (Or maybe it’s from the kissing, though she imagines this workout is far from over.) “I was just saying that I kept thinking of all the things I love about you, and how there’s so many I don’t think I’ll ever stop counting them, so I- I think it kinda makes sense if I spend the rest of my life finding new things to love.”

Max pauses, resting his chin on her shoulder. His breath puffs out warm on the side of her throat. “Zoey—”

“Maxwell Richman, I think I love you.”

He’s chuckling.  _ Why  _ is he chuckling? “I think I love you too, Zoey Clarke.”

“Maybe I should rephrase that. I _know_ I lo—”

“Zo.” Max leans away and slides a hand up to cup her cheek. “I think you know better than anyone what it’s like to be interrupted when you just want to kiss someone.”

Zoey frowns. “Right.” She takes his face and resumes the kiss, replacing it with new ones that get progressively longer and sloppier. Then she breaks it again only to say, “Just for the record, I was  _ not  _ about to start singing about my endless devotion to you, then three seconds later switch to an ass-shaking Bulldog—”

“Pitbull.”

“— Pitbull song. Talk about a nasty case of whiplash.” She taps his nose, then her fingers crawl up to nestle in his feathery hair. “Okay? That’s  _ your  _ specialty.”

“Darn. I would’ve loved to see that from you.” 

To shut him up, Zoey brings him back into the kiss, leaning as far into him as the stupid center console will allow. Maybe one day Zoey will learn how to make out in the confines of a car, but for now it is still a struggle. How is it that Max is sitting right next to her but feels a million miles away? She grunts with the effort it takes to press herself into him. Stupid center console. This must be why backseats exist. But why does it feel like something is literally restraining him—

There’s a soft click, then the sound of a seatbelt receding back into place.  _ Oh.  _ So it was the stupid seatbelt’s fault.

Max jams his finger into the push button, shutting the car off. Then he nudges Zoey back into her seat. Just when he’s preparing to hop over onto her side, however, Zoey is sorely reminded of exactly  _ where  _ they decided to have this parked car make out session— in front of her parents’ house,  _ and  _ in bright daylight.

Zoey feels like she’s in a horror movie as she turns around to see who dared to tap on her window. She’s greeted with her mother’s face, looking embarrassed but not surprised. Smoothing over her disheveled hair and shirt, Zoey settles back in her seat while Max does the same. While she dutifully rolls down the window, he stares straight out the windshield, cheeks flooding a deeper red than Zoey’s hair.

“Hey, Mom,” Zoey clicks her tongue. She feels like a teenager caught in the hydrangea bushes again, except this time she can at least look Maggie in the eye. (Well, mostly. Okay, not really.)

“I swear, I didn’t realize you two were...” Maggie trails off and twists her index and middle fingers together in a shape Zoey didn’t know was physically possible— though with the limited space in the Audi, there  _ is  _ a chance she and Max could find a way to contort their bodies like that. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you these.” Before Zoey has a chance to blink, two heavy casserole dishes are inserted through the open window. They drop down into her lap like a pair of boulders, making a pained  _ oof  _ rush out of her lungs. “You forgot them inside,” Maggie explains. Then her eyes shift over to address Max, and Zoey is impressed that the stiff smile she plastered on hasn’t slipped for a single second. “Hopefully I’ll see you inside the house next time, Max. You know you’re always welcome.”

“Yeah,” Max croaks. “Thank you, Maggie.”

With one final kiss deposited on Zoey’s temple, Maggie makes her hurried exit. Zoey is positive all the blood in her body is in her face. A quick look at the way Max has one leg crossed tightly over the other— quite an odd position to have in a car— tells her all the blood in  _ his  _ body has gone to one place, too.

Zoey raises one of the stupid casserole dishes and offers him a sympathetic glance. “Need one of these for your lap?”

“Nah. Nope. I’m good.” Max coughs, then without another word he starts the car and takes off down the street, clearly headed toward a destination where they can finish what they started.


	2. II. objects in mirror are closer than they appear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling asleep and I love yous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics in this chapter from "i'll have to say i love you in a song" by jim croce.

“You are unbelievable, you know that?” Zoey snaps, and the very next second the overcast day turns into a downpour. Water gushes from the sky in bucketfuls, torrential and unyielding. For a moment she and Max stand, their mouths agape as rain soaks into clothes and plasters hair to scalps. Just five minutes ago, there had been a flicker of sun through the clouds, but once again San Francisco weather has decided to throw them for a loop.

“You, uh... you didn’t happen to cause this with your anger, did you?” Max risks a question, following it up with a nervous chuckle.

Zoey scowls at him. “It’s true I still don’t know the extent of my powers, but  _ no,  _ Max, they don’t include controlling the weather.” With that said— or rather,  _ growled— _ she resumes marching back down the street to where the Audi is parked. Max is quick to jog after her, fumbling to slide off his jacket so he can stretch it over their heads. It doesn’t help much when they’re already soaked, but the gesture is thoughtful enough.

All around them, other unsuspecting souls caught in the storm run for cover, dashing into shops and cafes. A vicious wind snakes through, threatening to tear an umbrella clean off the restaurant table it’s attached to. Zoey and Max duck out of its range before finally making it to the car. Max jams his thumb into the unlock button on the clicker many more times than necessary, then the pair swing open their respective doors and throw themselves inside.

Now that they are literally drenched from head to toe, it’s tempting to forget the petty argument they started in line at the coffee shop. The argument had persisted through them receiving their orders... and sitting down at a table for a half-hour...  _ and _ wandering aimlessly down the street for another twenty minutes. But Zoey can’t help bringing it up again now in the safety of the car. She wishes this could just be like one of their usual ridiculous Star Trek vs. Star Wars debates, because those fights are complex yet simple at the same time, and almost always end up dissolving into laughter. But this subject— well, it’s kind of a  _ big  _ deal.

Zoey takes a deep breath and sneaks a glance over to her left. Max is slumped back in the driver’s seat, picking at the leather on the steering wheel. The car is on, engine humming softly behind the lull of a slower song on Max’s boy band playlist, but he isn’t making any move to pull back out onto the road. Clearly the case isn’t closed for him, either.

“Max,” she sighs. “You know how much I would  _ love  _ to work with you again at SPRQ Point. Remember what you said, though— you want to be in a manager role,  _ but  _ you also want something new.”

Slowly he crosses his arms over his chest. “I know, but it’s  _ Google.  _ And that’s basically a  _ joke  _ compared to SPRQ Point.”

“No, it’s not a joke,” Zoey says. She feels like she’s repeating the same thing she already said in line at the coffee place, and again sitting at the table, and again when walking down the street. “A job is a  _ job,  _ Max. This one is the kind of position you want,  _ with  _ better pay. And once you rise in the ranks, which you  _ will,  _ then it might be half as good as SPRQ Point.” She finishes with a teasing smile, making sure to stare at Max until he turns to catch her expression.

He rolls his eyes and, to her amusement, yawns. “But still... your old job on the fourth floor is open, and it  _ would  _ be kinda hot to see you up on your well-deserved throne in Joan’s old office.”

Zoey’s teeth sink into her lower lip. Since assuming Joan’s position, she hadn’t been inclined to move desks and become the unwanted center of attention in the fourth floor’s glass cage, but  _ now...  _

“Say that again?” she hums, leaning curiously in his direction. Again, the center console is proving a troublesome obstacle, but she does her best to lean an elbow on it in as casually seductive a manner as possible.

“Which part? Well-deserved throne...?  _ Hot?”  _ A smirk forms on his lips, loosening the conflicted tightness in his face. The rain (and especially prolonged showers) always bring out the natural curls in Max’s hair. This time is no exception— and the single, Superman-esque curl stuck to his forehead proves particularly irresistible. Zoey’s thumb is naturally attracted to the loop of hair, smoothing it neatly back among the glossy dark locks.

“So you wouldn’t mind working under me again?” Zoey asks, the words coming out in a throaty purr. 

His eyes narrow into dark shards of desire. “Oh, believe me, Zo,” he says, resting a hand behind her head and pulling their foreheads together, “I  _ love  _ when you’re above me.”

Bathed in the car’s bluish ambient lighting with the heated seats on full blast, it’s a great distraction from the heavy drizzle still raging just outside. In lieu of words from Zoey’s Awkward Vocab List which could potentially kill the mood, she brushes her nose with his, then joins their lips. They meet with a soft exhale, a release of emotions from the tricky conversation they just crawled out of.

And after Max said _that,_ it’s all Zoey can do not to immediately jump on top of him and devour him from top to bottom. By now she has gotten a chance to savor just about every feature on Max Richman’s gorgeous body, and she could never get tired of it, of _him._ Groaning into his mouth, she wraps both sets of fingers around his arms, nudging up the damp sleeves. Max listens to the cue and reaches down to peel his shirt off completely. Zoey lifts herself over the console, dropping into his lap. The steering wheel digs a little into her spine, but it’s better than not being close to him.

He turns his head to the side so he can speak. “We’re doing this?” he pants. “Right here, right now?”

Zoey pauses, considering, nuzzling her mouth into the crook of his neck. “The windows are tinted pretty dark, right?”

“Yeah...”

“Then yes.” With that, Zoey lifts her mouth to his again and resumes the kiss. His hands roam around, thumbs brushing rain-scented ringlets out of her face. She giggles and smiles into the kiss, loving the way he plays with her hair. It’s almost as enticing as the way he talks about her being the boss of him. Zoey Clarke dominates in more than just the office, and he knows it.

Abruptly, Max’s hands stop exploring her body and fall limp from where they’d been tangling with her bra strap. Zoey frowns, pushing away from him. “Max? What—” No further words are needed, however, because one glance gives her an explanation: Max has fallen asleep below her. Neither a gentle prod to the shoulder nor a few pokes in the cheek will rouse him— he is  _ dead  _ to the world. Zoey shakes her head in disbelief. The seats in this car are comfy, but not  _ that  _ comfy! 

“Really, hon? We just had an excess of coffee. Come on!” Zoey laughs, falling back into her seat. On the way, her elbow clips the horn, making the Audi utter a soft  _ beep.  _ It still does nothing to wake Max. She stares glumly out the windshield, the knowledge now sinking in that she’s stuck in a car that has no chance of moving as long as its driver is snoring behind the wheel.

Zoey gazes out the window, watching the rain gradually lessen up. People start to emerge again from the boutiques and cafes, chattering and shaking droplets off umbrellas. That’s when she hears the beginnings of a guitar tune, its gentle strumming taking over the Backstreet Boys song actually playing through the car stereo. Curious, Zoey peers over at Max, wondering if she’s about to experience a new type of heart song.  _ Can people sing heart songs in their dreams?  _ Then, with a start, she realizes that yes, they can— “I’ve Got the Music in Me” was one hell of a choreographed experience, and is one dream she has yet to forget.

But the voice that slides in to accompany the acoustic isn’t Max’s. Zoey’s eyes widen, flashing back over to the side mirror just outside her window. The reflective surface is still speckled with rain, but she can clearly glimpse herself staring fondly into the distance while reciting lyrics Zoey hasn’t ever heard before in her life.

_ Well, I know it’s kind of late _

_ I hope I didn’t wake you _

_ But what I got to say can’t wait _

_ I know you’d understand _

_ Every time I tried to tell you _

_ The words just came out wrong _

_ So I’ll have to say I love you in a song _

Zoey’s heart leaps into the base of her throat. She hasn’t been confronted with one of her reflection songs since the day her dad died— no, wait, since the day her nephew was born, actually. After working through it with Mo, they concluded Zoey’s reflection songs tend to be some kind of future predictors. With the bleakness of “Bad Moon Rising” and the sweetness of “You Are My Sunshine,” their assumption made sense— these songs are rare occurrences that only spring up on important days in her life. But what about today is special? All she did was go shopping with Max and get coffee with Max and beg Max to  _ please  _ take the job at Google and extend his career to well-deserved heights. Definitely not anything worthy of giving Zoey’s reflection her own separate sentience again.

As Max snoozes beside her, Zoey’s reflection continues singing, framed in a perfect misty snapshot in the wing mirror. 

_ Yeah, I know it’s kind of strange _

_ But every time I’m near you _

_ I just run out of things to say _

_ I know you’d understand _

_ Every time I tried to tell you _

_ The words just came out wrong _

_ So I’ll have to say I love you in a song _

Next to her, Max starts to stir. Zoey grins shyly, reaching into the backseat to retrieve his discarded shirt and lay it over his bare chest. Zoey isn’t sure if anyone else can hear her reflection songs the way they heard her unintended glitch songs. She’s only ever dealt with this in the solitude of her apartment. 

Cracking open her window, Zoey squints at her reflection. “Hey,” she whispers. “Listen, I know this is meant to be an important message or something, but, um... it’s really not needed, okay? I get it.” But Reflection Zoey won’t listen, and her gaze is unwavering when she meets Zoey’s slightly panicked stare through the mirror. Unfortunately, with the window rolled down, her voice is only amplified more.

_ Every time the time was right _

_ All the words just came out wrong _

_ So I’ll have to say I love you in a song _

“Zo?” Max asks. Oh god, he’s awake. Slowly Zoey turns to him, gritting her teeth into something she hopes resembles a smile. She rolls up the window, effectively shutting out her reflection— only for her actual self to continue the heart song.  _ Thanks, world, Max will  _ definitely _ be able to hear this! _

_ Yeah, I know it’s kind of late _

_ I hope I didn’t wake you _

_ But there’s something that I just got to say _

_ I know you’d understand _

_ Every time I tried to tell you _

_ The words just came out wrong _

_ So I’ll have to say I love you in a song _

When she’s done glitching— and god, Zoey would prefer all the worst glitches in code, even the blue screen of death, to this kind of mishap— Max has a knowing glint in his eye. To delay the inevitable teasing, Zoey gives a hollow chuckle and says, “Sooo... did I really bore you  _ that _ much with my kissing skills?”

Max snorts. They both know the chance of that being true is abysmally low. “My dear, your kissing skills are  _ far  _ from subpar,” Max replies, stretching his arms. His shirt slides down his chest, and only then does he appear to remember he’s no longer wearing it. With a blush that leaks from his cheeks into his neck and chest, he shrugs the rain-dampened garment back on and returns his eyes to her. “Seriously, I’m sorry I fell asleep. It’s... been a long day, and I guess I’m more than a little stressed about the job thing,” he says, his hand seeking hers over the console. Zoey lets him hold her hand despite the crushing fear that her palm is grossly sweaty. Somehow, she just knows he won’t care about that.

“It’s okay.” Zoey looks pointedly at him. “But still... I know we got a little sidetracked there, but don’t think I forgot what we were arguing about. I think you should take the job at Google.”

For a long minute Max doesn’t respond. His eyes drift away, staring at a point over Zoey’s shoulder, and briefly she’s scared her reflection in the side mirror has gotten a mind of her own again. But then he finally answers, “Okay. I will.” Pause. “So, um... are we going to address the elephant in the car, or?”

Zoey groans and slouches in her seat. “Do we have to?”

Max’s amusement fades, and he gives her hand a meaningful squeeze. “I mean, I think it’s kind of a big deal that you glitched again. Because I’m  _ guessing  _ you weren’t singing Jim Croce on purpose.”

She slams her elbow a little harder than intended into the armrest in the door. “How do you know  _ every  _ song?”

He shrugs. “Combo of being a theater and band kid, I guess. And Mo is not the first DJ I’ve befriended.”

Zoey sighs. “Okay, well... it started as a reflection song, remember how I told you about those? So far they’ve only happened for a death and a birth, so I’m a little worried because we shouldn’t be anticipating either of those events today.”

Again, Max is silent for a moment. When Zoey’s head swings over to glance at him, she can see the cute furrow in his brow— his classic thinking pose. Then, as if they’re merely discussing what to grab for dinner, Max blinks at her, smiles gently, and says, “I love you, Zoey.”

Out of nothing but innocent confusion, Zoey laughs. But Max doesn’t break his solemn stare, and her amusement gives way to further bewilderment. “Well, duh. I love you too, Max. But that isn’t anything new—”

“Zo,” he interrupts, slipping his other hand into her free one. “I love you, and you said you love  _ me.  _ No ‘I think’ or ‘I know’ in between. You just... love me.” Zoey has never seen someone’s smile literally fill their entire face before, but Max Richman always finds ways to break world records. “And that means the  _ world.”  _

It’s far from the first time and far from the last time words fail her, so instead of responding verbally, Zoey’s lips crash into his again. Her ribs dig painfully into that damn console, but she doesn’t have it in her to care. All she knows is she’s kissing Max Richman in an Audi as the California sun breaks the clouds overhead (and if there’s a smirking reflection in the side mirror, neither of them notice it.)


	3. III. backseat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BJs and earthquakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics in this chapter from "get you" by daniel caesar ft. kali uchis (a fantastic car sex song, by the way... just saying...)

Most of the time date nights for Zoey and Max consist of staying home, eating Mexican takeout, and having a face mask and manicure spa session together. (The face masks are Zoey’s pick, while Max has grown obsessed with perfecting his nail art skills.) And after several months of dating, their at-home existence has pretty much melded together: Zoey’s things are littered all around Max’s apartment, her sweaters mixed into his laundry and her bottle of shampoo tucked in the corner of his shower like it’s always been there; and Max will never get tired of standing in front of the mirror in Zoey’s tiny bathroom, shaving his face while she dries her hair, and brushing his teeth while she dabs on perfume in each soft, sweet spot he likes to kiss.

For tonight’s date night, however, they decide to try something outside the box— or rather, outside their bubble of comfort, AKA home. This time they plan to go out to eat at the Mexican place they like instead of ordering takeout. Zoey puts some extra effort into her appearance tonight, despite the obvious fact that Max would still trip over his heels even if she wore a potato sack to their date (and that sentiment goes both ways, of course). So she consults Mo beforehand, who promises to make her look like Emma Stone fresh off the red carpet. Then Max picks her up in the Audi and they go to the restaurant. A few of the employees there are excited to finally put faces to the mysterious “Max and Zoey” who have only ever called in orders before.

Their intention was to grab a couple (or a dozen) cheesequakes on the way back home... but after an hour and a combined five margaritas, Zoey and Max end up in the backseat of the Audi rather than the front.

Sitting astride him, Zoey lays Max down flat on his back, his spine sinking into the plush leather. While she’s undoing his tie, she presses sizzling kisses along his neck which trail further down to his collarbone once the tie is gone. She pops open the buttons on his shirt one by one, gradually uncovering more of the buried treasure that is Max Richman’s bare chest.

His fingers scamper up her back to fumble blindly with the zipper on her dress. Before he can get too far, though, Zoey stops him. “Mmm... Zo—” he starts to protest, but Zoey shushes him with another greedy kiss.

_ “Shhh.  _ Let me take care of you,” she whispers. Her lips stray down to places only ever traversed in private. Max watches, overwhelmed with awe as his girlfriend slides down to straddle his hips. If he wasn’t hard before, he sure as hell is now. But as always, Zoey tests his limits (limits which Max realizes are expanded each time they fuck), taking her sweet time sliding down the zipper on his suit trousers. He lifts his hips slightly to help her yank down his pants and briefs. The next kiss she presses onto him is nowhere near his gaping mouth. “You took care of me last night, remember?” Zoey adds, though Max has already forgotten what they were talking about. She wraps her smirking lips around the head of his dick. As she works her way down, taking more of him into the sweet cavern of her mouth, a moan rakes up Max’s throat, nearly splitting him in two.

He thought ahead of time to leave the radio on, a smart move considering their location. Yes, the back windows are tinted, but the Audi isn’t parked in the most secluded area. At the very least, any potential  _ sounds  _ will be well-obscured. Max’s eyes slide shut as he loses himself in the sensation of Zoey’s mouth and hands ravishing him. He maintains his grip on her perky ass, holding her steady while catching snippets of the song playing on the car stereo.

_ Oooooooh, who could’ve thought I’d get you? _

_ Oooooooh, who could’ve thought I’d get you? _

_ And when we’re making love, uh _

_ Your cries, they can be heard from far and wide _

_ It’s only the two of us _

_ Everything I need between those thighs _

_ Every time I look into your eyes, I see it _

_ You’re all I need _

_ Every time I get a bit inside, I feel it _

Zoey pauses for a moment, her eyes roaming over his exposed skin. When her gaze locks onto his, all Max finds is a gleam of dark blue desire. “Zoey?” he groans. He wants to tell her  _ Please don’t stop.  _ He wants to beg her to keep going. It’s taking all his self-control to not buck up his hips and hit the back of her throat; despite her admittedly impressive gag reflex, Max still worries about hurting her accidentally.

She traces her lips up his length, taking an extra second to suck the tip again before letting go with a wet  _ pop.  _ “I’m sorry,” she giggles, and Max warms at the sight of the Zoey he knows most of the time, awkward and blushing. It’s amusing to see her act so shy now, as if she wasn’t just shamelessly sucking him off. “I just  _ love  _ this car. The sound system is so clear, I thought you were singing a heart song for a second.”

“I could’ve been, since you’re not letting me keep my mouth busy,” Max teases.

“We’ll get to that,” she promises, and if Max were on his feet, the renewed anticipation would’ve knocked him off balance. Zoey’s eyes flick back to his erection at her fingertips, throbbing painfully at the abrupt loss of pleasure. If Max is worried about the chances of her maybe loving his car more than him, those concerns fade away the instant she picks up where she left off, tormenting him with delicate tongue flicks again and—

Out of nowhere, the car is jolted sharply, as if seized by a giant and shaken like a rattle. Startled, Zoey chokes on him for a moment before flinging herself upwards and falling back against the window. In the process, Max gives her ass way too hard of a squeeze, and they both give a simultaneous yelp of alarm.

They sit there for a minute, trying to catch their breaths and calm rapidly beating hearts. Max is still sprawled in the roomy backseat, unbuttoned shirt slipping off his shoulders and unzipped pants bunched up at his knees. As a courtesy to any poor souls who might happen to pass by their car at this moment, Max retrieves the spare blanket from one of the seat pockets and holds it over his groin. 

Meanwhile, Zoey is perched in the corner by his feet, peering in bewilderment out the window. Then they look at each other and burst into exasperated laughter.

“Was— that was an earthquake, wasn’t it?” Max chuckles, propping himself up on his elbows. He wishes he could calm himself down, but with his girlfriend curled only a few feet away from him, gorgeous with her rumpled dress and ruffled hair, it’s hard not to be turned on— even after an earthquake tried to disturb them.

Zoey nods miserably, but the twinkle of mirth in her eyes aligns with the giggle that escapes through gritted teeth. “Yep. They always have the most perfect timing. Try getting an MRI during one!” She buries her face in her hands, chest shaking with laughter.

“I would, but I think I’ll pass on the free musical powers.” 

Max sighs and throws his head back onto the seat, staring up at the stars through the moonroof. The world must really be out to get him tonight— or so he thinks, until Zoey tosses away the courtesy blanket and bends down again.


	4. IV. flat tire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flat tires, car alarms, and... other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the wonky POV in this chapter, i don't like writing omniscient POV but that's what happened anyways lol. thanks for the comments and kudos so far! it means a lot.

In all his years of driving, Max has never once gotten a flat tire. He never really learned  _ how  _ to change a tire, either, since it wasn’t something he had to worry about. Until tonight, that is.

He crosses his arms and tilts all his weight back onto his heels. The shame he feels at not knowing such a common life skill is really dragging him down, though Zoey keeps insisting that it’s nothing to beat himself up over. So Max stops whining about it and instead stands silently on the side of the road, tugging at his bowtie and handing Zoey tools whenever she asks for them.  _ Damn,  _ he thinks as he watches her work,  _ why couldn’t I have had a father like Mitch to teach me this stuff?  _

But seeing her knelt down by the left rear tire of his car, making periodic little grunts as she twists the jack, is also bringing far less innocent thoughts to mind. Maybe it’s her positioning, maybe it’s the grunts, or maybe it’s both combined with the fact that Zoey is doing all this while wearing her wedding dress. Max had worried about getting stains on the white fabric for only a minute before Zoey dismissed him with a wave of her now grubby hand and said  _ “Well, that’s what bleach is for, right?”  _ Then she turned away and started to work, though not before Max caught her grimace.

“Can I have the wrench again?” she asks, and Max hands it to her, trying not to let his eyes linger too long on the faint ripple of muscle made visible by her open-back dress. Zoey Clarke— no,  _ Richman,  _ he corrects himself with a swell of joy— may be tiny, but she packs a lot of punch into that 5’2” frame. And it is painfully, undeniably  _ hot.  _ “Stupid thing,” she mutters, heaving all her weight onto the stubborn metal. Max knows better than to offer assistance; she already denied his three previous attempts. He can tell she’s deep in determined mode, the same way she used to get during the bake-offs at work. Max figures that on the scale of complexity, changing a tire falls somewhere between buggy SPRQWatch code and the many poor microwaves Zoey has viewed as a puzzle of parts.

After a few minutes, she rises to her feet again, sweeping hair out of her face. She looks miraculously spotless considering her recent activity. In fact, Zoey looks precisely the same as she did several hours earlier when she delivered herself to the altar. For her makeup, Mo must’ve cleared all the shelves of the heavy-duty section at Sephora (if such a section even exists, it’s not like Max would know. His expertise ends at nail art). The only difference is her shoes, which have long since been traded for her beloved white trainers. Zoey’s beauty never wavers in Max’s eyes, but in this moment he truly admires her for the beautiful person she is: for being his best friend, his closest confidant, and now his  _ wife.  _ God, he must be dreaming.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Zoey smirks. She almost puts her hands on her hips in a defensive gesture, then remembers how grimy they are and thinks better of it.

“Can I— can I call it a show?” Max asks seriously. When she gives a nod that dissolves into giggles, he laughs too. “Okay, then  _ yes,  _ I did, thank you very much. Though I will say this isn’t  _ quite  _ how I imagined kicking off our honeymoon.”

Zoey raises her manicured brows. Anyone else might see the expression as innocent, but Max is all too familiar with this look and the way it makes his knees buckle. “Really?” she asks, tilting her head. “What were you thinking?”

Max takes half a second to glance at their surroundings. They pulled over at a section of the highway that’s pretty quiet even when it isn’t close to midnight. Still, their chosen spot on the shoulder is made less creepy by the bright street lamp illuminating the Audi and Zoey’s hair in a mellow golden glitter. In the distance, Max can faintly hear the Pacific crashing against the shore; they weren’t too far from their seaside cottage destination when they got the flat.

It’s safe to say they are  _ definitely  _ alone here.

Feet barely making a sound over the crunchy gravel, Max steps forward and sweeps Zoey— Zoey, his wife, this incredible woman, his  _ wife,  _ he can’t get over it— into his arms. “I was thinking it would go more like this,” he mumbles into her ear, nibbling at her earlobe. He buries his face in the sensitive valley between her neck and collarbone, leaving a stream of kisses wherever his lips touch. 

Working like the well-oiled machine they are, Zoey backs towards the car, hopping up to seat herself on the trunk without so much as a glance over her shoulder. She still stumbles, though, but Max holds her waist to keep her stable. He doesn’t even give her a chance to curse her clumsiness, because then Max’s lips are caught on her own and his hand is past the hem of her dress and sliding up her inner thigh. Just before his fingers reach the edge of where her panties would be if she were wearing them, Max hesitates— a question.

Zoey gasps softly, so innately aware of his skin brushing hers, the tiniest of touches driving her wild. She remembers the days when Max could so much as breathe in the direction of her desk at SPRQ Point and it would launch her up into the clouds— and now that same man is her  _ husband.  _ She can’t get over it.

He’s still waiting, so she nods vigorously, forehead pressed into his shoulder. With a lingering kiss to her temple, Max plunges two fingers into her slick folds. Zoey cries out sharply, leaning hard into his embrace and inhaling the stale cologne still clinging to the undershirt of his tux.

Max feels her scoot back a little, shifting to better accommodate their position. Listening instinctively to her unspoken plea, Max adds a third finger, swirling it over her clit while working the other two digits methodically in and out. Zoey’s whimpers fluctuate in volume, tickling his ear and echoing into the empty night around them. Max’s body responds empathetically to the sounds, and he rolls his hips involuntarily, which makes the car quake underneath her. It’s just them, the stars, and the ocean in the distance— until it isn’t.

Zoey’s eyes pop open suddenly, landing on the police cruiser that has arrived to pop their bubble of ecstasy. Its siren is shut off, granting it top-notch stealth, but its flashing lights still flicker harshly at them like red and blue flames. “Max,” she hisses, desperately pushing him off of her and clamping her legs shut. His hand almost gets stuck there, but he manages to pull it away just in time for the officer to step out of his car.

Both Max and Zoey are flushed and sweaty, and guilty like teenagers caught in the act by an unsuspecting parent. Max spins around and presses his back against the rear of the Audi. He squints into the cop’s bright flashlight, which flicks from one blushing face to the other. To Max’s utter horror, his car chooses  _ this  _ moment to freak out; the anti-theft alarm starts wailing, head and taillights flashing in almost perfect rhythm with the cruiser’s. Panicked, Max fumbles with his key fob, and it takes a good thirty seconds to hit the correct button to shut it off.

“Good evening,” the officer says once the Audi is soothed. Thankfully, he kills the flashlight and instead faces them with a stern dent in his brow. Zoey and Max sheepishly mumble some sort of greeting. There is an excruciatingly long minute of silence during which the officer takes in the damning scene in front of him. Then, with a knowing jerk of his head, he asks, “Got a flat?”

“Y- yes, sir,” Max mutters, trying to maintain eye contact. He sincerely hopes he won’t be asked to put his hands in the air. 

The cop sighs, rubbing his nose and dropping the flashlight back into a loop in his belt. “You need any... help with it?”

“No, sir,” Zoey pipes up. “Nope. We— we’ve, um, got it under control.” There’s another awkward pause, during which Zoey debates squeaking out a “thanks” if fear hasn’t already fried her vocal cords.

The officer gives them another long, scrutinizing look. “You two just come from a wedding or something?”

“Yeah,” Max and Zoey say at the same time, exchanging a glance that renews their blushes. “Um, ours, actually,” Max adds, pointing to the ring on his left hand (the one that had been, fortunately, doing more innocent things a minute ago). He also moves aside and points at the transparent “Just Married” banner hanging in the rear window of the Audi.

Clearly unamused, the cop merely grunts at them. He only dedicates five more minutes of his time to the Richmans, five humiliating minutes which include Max showing his license and registration, sobriety tests for both Max and Zoey,  _ and _ a stern reminder for Max to keep his car’s tags up-to-date, even though they already are.

When the police car finally disappears down the road, leaving them alone once more, Zoey lets out a mortified laugh and melts into Max’s arms.

“I cannot  _ believe  _ that just happened,” she snorts into his chest. “I think I was less embarrassed that time I sang ‘Pressure’ to all the executives at SPRQ Point.”

“Hey, I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, it was their loss for not appreciating your performance,” Max reminds her.

Zoey shoves his shoulder and leans back to peck his nose. “You mean  _ our  _ performance?” Max sweeps away the ginger wisps falling in her face, grinning like a dork. “Anyway, the only thing that could’ve made what just happened worse is if that cop broke into a heart song. I think I would’ve actually died on the spot.”

“Ooh, maybe something by The Police. Wouldn’t that be some irony?”

“Max! Seriously. Also, that isn’t irony. At least... I don’t think it is.”

“Okay, okay, don’t worry,” Max says, pulling her close to him. “If you died there, then I would die with you so you wouldn’t be alone. I know we just said the whole ‘til death do us part’ spiel, but I think we’re gonna go on long past that.”

“Unlike David and Emily,” Zoey replies. At his confused squint, she continues, “It’s, uh, a long story. Now come on, let’s see if we can make it to our destination  _ before  _ succumbing to desire this time. And anyway, my butt is sore.”

Max sighs, but backs up to let her jump down off the car. “Didn’t somebody wise once say, ‘It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey?’”

But Zoey doesn’t answer, only offering him a sultry wink before getting back in the car. (Unbeknownst to her, the wink is actually just a sultry  _ blink,  _ but Max isn’t about to tell her that. She’s still totally reeled him in anyway.) With a helpless shake of his head, he swings open his door and joins her.


	5. V. sunlight through the moonroof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drive-thrus and realizations.

“Hey, we’ll have two double-doubles—”

“Actually, can you make it a triple-triple?”

“Okay, um, two triple-triples, one order of fries, two chocolate shakes—”

“And a strawberry.”

Max turns in his seat to stare at her in amazement. Zoey only smirks and shrugs at him, so without further protest Max leans back out the window. “Add a strawberry shake to that, please.”

Ten minutes later, Max has the Audi parked off to the side of the drive-thru. Zoey has already devoured half her burger, nearly gnawing straight through the wrapper in her haste. Max watches her apprehensively as he sips his milkshake. “Zo,” he says carefully, fitting his drink back in one of the cupholders between them. “How, uh, how’re you doing?”

She frowns around her next bite, nose adorably scrunched in confusion while she chews. “Um...” she mumbles after swallowing. “I’m... good?” Her eyes drop to the shredded In-N-Out wrappers on the floor by her feet, then return to meet his gaze with a slightly higher degree of shame.

Max smirks at her and pops a fry into his mouth. A few years ago he might have cared a little more about the fast food grease in his car, but at this point he doesn’t mind. To be honest, he never really did mind— after all, Zoey came with him when he test drove this car, and she accidentally smeared lip gloss on the dashboard. She nearly panicked, but Max remembers only laughing and insisting that it was fate.

“I just never knew you liked In-N-Out  _ this  _ much,” he says.

Zoey twists her milkshake straw around in the lid. “I didn’t know, either. I’ve been craving it lately, so...” She trails off, smothering her words in another massive bite of her burger.

They eat in pleasant silence, listening to 80s music and watching the drive-thru cycle through. Yesterday was podcast day, and since Max got hooked on the murder trial Zoey picked, he almost sacrificed today’s music day so he wouldn’t have to wait to hear the end of it. But Zoey had insisted on keeping today as a music day because they’re working through one of Max’s 80s playlists— though, oddly, she skipped Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” in favor of “Is This Love.”

When they think the other isn’t looking, Max and Zoey steal glances at each other, too— if not at their faces, then at their wedding rings (always a lovely reminder of how far they’ve come) or at the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the moonroof only to be captured in big blue eyes or glossy brown hair.

“You have some ketchup on your nose,” Max points out a few minutes later. Zoey sucks down the last of the strawberry shake (the chocolate one is next in line) and reaches for a napkin, but Max takes care of it for her, swiping it away with his thumb.

Zoey sinks back into the well-worn leather for a moment, admiring his slow and deliberate movements as he licks the residue off his finger. She has a feeling he knows very well what he’s doing, and the effect works on her. Wordlessly she scoots forward on her knees, pressing her elbows into the console, scooping his soft bearded face into her hands, and bringing his mouth to hers. Max smiles into the kiss, chuckling at the welcome surprise. “I love you,” Zoey sighs, their breaths mingling as she tilts back to make heavy-lidded eye contact.

“And I love you,” Max responds. The words are second nature to him every time he looks at her, and have been for years and years. “I love your eyes,” he goes on, and Zoey giggles shyly, knowing where this is going. Obediently her eyes slide shut, allowing him to deposit a feather-light kiss on each one. “I love your nose,” he murmurs, pecking the tip of her adorably sloped nose. “I love your cheeks... I love the scrunch between your brows... I love your chin... I love your—”

“Lips,” Zoey finishes, closing their mouths together into another languid kiss. Max groans softly, his fingers crawling up her torso. He cups her breasts through her thin camisole, swirling a nipple under each thumb, but she redirects his hands. “They’re sore,” she mumbles against his lips, the explanation breezy and minimal. Max frowns, considering how unusual that is, but then he easily gets swept back into her tempting caress.

For a few minutes they do nothing except make out, relishing the simple pleasure of tasting tongues and exploring hands. Max is steadily marching towards the next base when Zoey abruptly severs their embrace. Dumbfounded, he watches as she kicks open her door, barely getting out of the car in time to spew her guts onto the pavement.

“Whoa, whoa,” Max pants, leaping out and circling the car to rub her shoulders. “Are you okay? Do you need me to go get some water?”

She shakes her head rapidly, sliding out of his grasp to drop back into her seat. Max returns to his seat as well, his concerned stare not leaving her for a single moment. Zoey absently wipes at her mouth with a napkin, blinking in bewilderment, and Max can’t stand seeing her discomfort. “You know what,” he speaks up, starting to get out again. “I’m gonna get you some water. I’ll be right back.”

The entire time he’s gone, Zoey glares out the windshield and tries to focus on her breathing. Switching from the taste of Max to the taste of vomit is disconcerting to say the least.

In less than two minutes Max returns, offering her a cup of iced tap given to him by an indifferent In-N-Out employee. “You wanna go home?” he asks. She nods numbly. Max starts the car and pulls out of the parking spot. He doesn’t speak again until they’re back on the road. “Do you— do you know what that was about? I mean, besides the—”

“I know, I know, I ate too much, too fast,” Zoey interrupts.

“Yeah, but I mean... I’ve  _ never  _ seen you eat like that, Zo.”

She rolls her eyes in exasperation. “I don’t know, hon! I was hungry, and then I felt sick. And no, before you tease me about it, kissing you isn’t what made me feel sick.”

“Hey,” Max objects, his sharp tone rounded at the edges by amusement. “I wasn’t planning to bring that up, just to preserve my dignity.”

“To hell with  _ my  _ dignity,” Zoey groans. “That’s long gone.” Her eyes drift over to the window, watching the dusky buildings of San Francisco slide past them. “Anyway, I have no idea  _ why  _ that happened. I can’t think of any—”

Her voice cuts off abruptly, urging Max to glance back over at her. “What?”

At the same time he looks over, Zoey’s head swings back to face him, her eyes wide with alarm. “Max...” she says, trying to keep her tone as even as possible, “there  _ is  _ one possibility.”

Her cryptic words aren’t putting him any more at ease.  _ “What?”  _ Max demands again. His grip on the steering wheel tightens even more, his knuckles bone-white.

Zoey doesn’t answer right away, hiding her face behind her hands. Then she emerges a moment later only to exclaim, “Aw, sh—”


	6. +1.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally, no interruptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everybody who followed along this past week! this fic was a fun little project, and i hope i did our favorite characters (and that freakin' audi!) some justice. this last chapter is, as you probably suspected, more explicit than the others. i *think* i'll keep the overall rating M for now, but PLEASE keep in mind this chapter specifically is rated higher than the past ones. so buckle in, there's smut but there is also plenty of cheesy fluffiness!
> 
> lyrics in this chapter from "conversations in the dark" by john legend, because john legend is kind of a clarkeman staple, ya know?
> 
> (and as for that vegasfic update, it's coming soon... promise!)

The first time Max seriously thinks about trading in the Audi, it’s when he pulls into his side of the two-car garage one day in early September. He shifts into park and shuts it off while the garage door whines closed behind him. Max sits back for a moment, running his hands over the cracked leather of the steering wheel. His birthday is coming up, he muses, so it wouldn’t be too soon to at least  _ start  _ the car shopping process.

He hears the door from the house open then close, and the next instant Zoey is in the car with him, leaning quietly on the console that he swears she’s dented over the years with her elbows. With just one glance at his face, she already knows what is on his mind.

“You’re ready to say goodbye, huh?” Zoey asks, running one hand along the dashboard.

Max shrugs. “I’ll be the first to admit it... maybe it’s time to get something new.”

She smirks at him. “You are  _ not  _ the first to admit that,” she says, cupping one hand around her mouth as if she’s cluing him in on a fascinating secret. “But I’m proud of you for saying it. I mean, I love this car, but if it could talk...” Her eyes flick to the backseat. With the pair of booster seats and the back pockets overflowing with toys and coloring books, it’s a bit more crowded than it used to be.

Max grimaces. “I’m  _ glad  _ this car can’t talk! Think how traumatizing that would be— and I don’t just mean for the girls.”

“You know...” Zoey begins, then shakes herself out of it. 

“What?”

“No, never mind. It’s crazy.”

“I love crazy,” Max insists, snagging her hesitant gaze.

Zoey snorts. “Of course you do.” Her amusement fades into a sigh. “I was just thinking... we never did get to _do_ anything in here.”

He catches on immediately, brow dropping as his eyes narrow into sly, gleaming shards. “We don’t have a lot of time,” he says, but even as the words are leaving his mouth, Max knows he couldn’t care less. It’s been years, but he will never  _ not  _ want her. The growing bulge in his pants is only further proof of that.

With remarkable ease— something Max can attribute to several practice sessions— he climbs over the console onto Zoey’s side of the car and captures her lips. Her giggles tickle his mouth, warm breath clouding his face while one of her hands rests on his beard. Her other hand darts down to the lever on the side of the seat, which she tugs until they’re fully reclined.

Zoey’s hands slither under his shirt while Max hooks his thumbs in the belt loops on her pants. Only ever separating to aid the removal of clothes, they move feverishly, tossing the unwanted garments into the backseat. As always, her bra is saved for last. Max glides his long, agile fingers over the pale lace, planting neat little kisses along the border between skin and fabric. Zoey gives an impatient groan which hits him squarely like an arrow of anticipation lodging in his core. She arches her back, inviting him to undo the clasp. Max bends down to pick up the bra delicately between his teeth, showing it off proudly as if this isn’t a prize he’s already secured countless times before. He wiggles his eyebrows, flashing her the dorkiest smile he can muster while in a haze of arousal.

“Max, I swear—!” Zoey laughs, literally the definition of music to his ears. Max would trade all his playlists to only hear his wife’s giggles and his name on her lips for the rest of his life. He throws the bra into the backseat and bows his head again, taking one of her breasts in one hand and massaging it while giving the other attention with his mouth, swirling her nipple under his tongue. Zoey whimpers at his touch but still manages to return the favor, reaching out a hand to stroke his somewhat neglected cock.

A deep hum of pleasure blooms at the base of Max’s throat; he grits his teeth, mumbling a string of curse words interspersed with her name. He pauses for a moment to prop himself above her and drink in the view. He has adored Zoey’s body from the very beginning of their relationship, and by now his hands can traverse her instinctively, familiar with each dimple, each freckle, each sensitive spot. Still, every time he explores her it gives him an undeniable thrill, like it’s the very first time all over again. Max knows they will never be their same selves that they were all those years ago, but that’s okay. Zoey’s body as it is now is something he adores even more, because it’s the body that embraces him; it’s the body that has carried two beautiful children; it’s the body that supports the whip-smart woman who reminds him every day of how amazing it is to love somebody forever. It’s  _ her.  _

Max is pulled out of his trance by Zoey hooking her ankle behind his leg, bringing him closer again. The car’s limited space is no difficulty for them; they’re content to fit into each other. Peppering kisses along her throat, Max lowers himself back down and positions himself at her entrance.

At his hesitation, Zoey whines, her hands fisting in his hair. “Max,” she breathes around a frustrated laugh. “I love you, but we don’t have all day.”

He presses his face into her shoulder, breathing in the hair spilling over her bare chest. “Tell me what you want, Zo,” he hums.

“Max—”

“Tell me what you need, please.”

“I need  _ you,”  _ she says, joining her hands at the nape of his neck. She drags him into a messy kiss, lips already straying before the kiss really begins. “I want you, Max. I- I want you inside me”— she jerks her hips up, making contact with his aching erection— “I want you t- to fuck me right now,” she tells him, and the next part is almost completely obscured by giggles, “in this old-ass car, because it’s never,  _ ever  _ worked out before.”

If Max wasn’t so painfully turned on, he definitely would have laughed too. “God, Zoey,” he sighs, and sinks into her. She gasps, eyes fluttering shut as her nails scrape down his back. He starts at a relaxed pace, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back inside her. At her impatient growl, however, Max sets a new speed, responding in kind to her moans as they inch closer to climax. 

He pops open one eye for just a second, taking in the fogged-up windows and the gentle back and forth motion of the car. It’s hard to believe it’s taken them  _ this  _ long to finally achieve this moment. He closes his eyes again, drowning in the sensation of his cock enveloped in her slick walls.

When Max comes, he’s bent carefully over her, his arms shaking from the effort of supporting his own weight and his knee cramping where it’s pressed into the edge of the aged leather seat. He keeps up his thrusts, spilling his entire load into her while bringing her to a shuddering orgasm.

“Fuck,” Zoey pants. Her hands skim idly over his back, meandering from his shoulder blades to his firm ass. Her eyes stay only half-open, so very blue and drilling straight into his soul. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you,” he says. Max automatically rolls off of her, only to remember that they’re in his car,  _ not  _ in their bed. He yelps, spine digging into that damn console as he falls not-so-gracefully into the driver’s seat.

“Are you okay?” Zoey gasps, propping herself on her elbows and staring at him. It’s obvious she’s struggling not to laugh.

“You can laugh all you want,” Max says. “I will be when I— when I catch my breath.”

Zoey is reaching into the backseat to retrieve their misplaced clothes when she hears the opening notes of a heart song. Heart quivering, she immediately drops what she’s doing and turns her attention to Max. There are days when Zoey is convinced her power has finally left her after several years— but every now and then, a new heart song (or reflection song) will pop up to drag her back into her atypical reality. A heart song from her husband especially is not one to be missed.

With a tender smile, Zoey sits back in the partially reclined seat and listens, reveling in the knowledge that even if the heart songs one day go away for good, she’ll still have Max there to tap out melodies on the piano while Cecilia and Gracie dance to their father’s voice.

He reaches out to stroke her hair, gently working out any tangles. He sings softly, the lyrics caressing her soul.

_ On Sunday mornings we sleep in ‘til noon _

_ Oh, I could sleep wherever next to you, next to you _

_ And we, we got places we both gotta be _

_ But there ain’t nothing I would rather do _

_ Than blow off all my plans for you _

The bass and piano eventually fade away, leaving nothing but Max’s crooked, adoring grin; and though it’s now framed by a beard, that grin takes Zoey back to their first day at SPRQ Point, reminds her of a clean-shaven, new college graduate who was an instant friend. Zoey leans in to meet that smile with a kiss.

“Why’d you do that?” he laughs. “Heart song?”

“No,” she tells him honestly. The heart songs are wonderful, but Zoey would love Max Richman in any universe, power or no power. She smooths a hand over his ruffled hair, meeting his gaze affectionately. “Because I felt like it.”


End file.
